


Nightingale

by Forgetticus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Driving, Entitled Rich People Talking Out Loud, Humor, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini, Sassy Draco Malfoy, Secrets, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, eye rolling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgetticus/pseuds/Forgetticus
Summary: Harry, Draco, Millicent, Pansy and Blaise pile in the Duesenberg to go to a party in the Great Gatsby Universe.





	Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any 20's something boys, from the JK Rowling universe or otherwise.
> 
>  
> 
> Beta by the talented JR - Thank you, for being the critical eye and encouraging push for all my work, no matter how close to the deadline I call :)
> 
>  
> 
> And a special thank you to RL for the lovely and thorough beta as well!

The five partygoers piled into the Duesenberg. It was sweltering hot, but Harry wouldn’t dare complain. Complaining was both rude and pointless; it wouldn’t make the city any less hot. 

Blaise hopped into the driver’s seat and the click click of the clutch was audible as he shifted into gear and cruised down the Manhattan street. 

“Even when the sun is setting, it’s not any cooler,” Draco lamented dramatically, rolling down the front window and letting his hand fall out of the car. 

Harry shook his head.

‘Of course you need to let everyone know you’re unhappy. Typical socialite behavior,’ he thought and tried to concentrate on the way the breeze from the open windows caressed his face. He was in the back seat directly behind Draco, crowded uncomfortably with two acquaintances on the sticky leather bench. 

“It’ll be cooler in West Egg. The wind rolls in from the water,” Blaise assured Draco.

Harry rolled down his own window and edged closer to the small gap of fresh air like a carnival animal pressing its face between the bars of its cage. 

Ms Millicent Bulstrode was confined to the other window, and Ms Pansy Parkinson was stuffed in the middle to Harry’s left. As Blaise weaved expertly through the labyrinth of Manhattan streets, she swayed between them, consistent as a metronome. Although she was beautiful, pale and waiflike, the jagged black and silver beads of her dress would prick right through a summer suit, so Harry kept his distance from her as he would a nettle or thorny rose.

The smell of melting asphalt filled Harry’s nostrils as they drove, and the sidewalks were bustling with people, some already in their evening clothes. Harry felt as though he were so far out the window that he could scoop up a puppy right from the sidewalk vendors arms, or pluck a bouquet from one of the standing carts. From his vantage point he spied Draco’s reflection in the side mirror; he was taking a long, lavish pull from his flask, head thrown back and throat bobbing slowly. Although Harry thought it was typical that Draco began nursing a flask the moment he was alone with his friends, this act was the first thing Harry had seen the Manhattan socialite do that wasn’t done in an extraneous rush. 

The entire pace of the city was...challenging. At the beginning of the summer, Harry's godfather had left their rolling Georgia fields and sleepy willows to spend the season with his erstwhile northern cousin, the devilishly rich and beautiful Narcissa Malfoy. It had been the first break in their long estrangement, the details of which Harry knew nothing about, but he was nevertheless glad that whatever parted them seemed to be forgotten, and a reunion was in order. 

Whereas Sirius had been stomping about the north for several weeks, Harry had only arrived this afternoon, and would be leaving again seven days hence. As per his letters, his godfather couldn’t get enough of the city. To their countrymen, Sirius was considered eccentric on a good day, and he easily adjusted to the New York social scene. Harry, on the other hand, was of a more mild breed. He had come to Manhattan once in his youth to see a boarding school that he might attend, but was able to sidestep the whole debacle and stay in Georgia. 

This trip was made entirely to indulge his godfather and satisfy his obligation to tour New York University, the single northern postgrad program to which he had been accepted. His plan was to spend the week with Sirius, and Sirius’s relations as necessary. He would walk the undoubtedly impressive campus, graciously decline his acceptance in favor of a local southern choice, and go right back home. 

To add insult to an already stressful endeavor, ‘spending time with Sirius’s blood relatives’ apparently meant that Harry be introduced to Narcissa and her aloof husband to exchange pleasantries and then be gently shooed over to the kids table. Harry would have been furious if Sirius hadn’t been adamant for weeks that Harry meet Draco, the notoriously blasé heir to the Malfoy fortune. Sirius had written about Draco in nearly every letter, describing him with a certain poetry, and speaking of him with admiration. 

According to Sirius, Draco had been accepted to Columbia for Medical Such and Such, and was already signed up for his fall classes. This tied in perfectly with the long, repetitive paragraphs dedicated to lecturing him about getting out of his comfort zone. 

Georgia is landlocked, and isolating, Sirius would say. 

Wouldn’t a change of scenery be nice? 

Maybe it would be better if you lived somewhere other than the home where your parents are buried. 

And wouldn’t it make leaving home easier if you were moving to a city where you already had a friend?

Harry would roll his eyes while reading these tiresome appeals; he could be counted on to vehemently deny to Sirius and himself that he was purposely isolating himself in Georgia. There was nothing wrong with staying in your family home, or visiting the graves of the mother and father you never got to know. 

As for Sirius’s insistence that Draco could be a good friend to him, and easy to look at on top of it all, Harry was beginning to think that this was just bait used in an effort to make New York University more appealing. His godfather would not be above a childish ploy to encourage Harry to move North so that he could take up in the city permanently as Harry’s chaperone. 

Sirius didn’t seem entirely wrong about Draco though; it was true that he was every bit as beautiful as Harry had expected, but nothing else that Sirius described was there. Cunning, sure, but intelligent? Thoughtful? Kind? Harry had yet to see these qualities in his host, and had no expectation of seeing them in the others. 

“Draco, why don’t you offer that to our guest?” Blaise suggested smoothly, nodding pointedly to Draco’s flask. 

Although Harry had been born and raised in the often religiously dry counties of Georgia, he wasn’t so unsocialized as to miss that Blaise was actually warning his friend not to frontload. 

Draco smiled and turned fully in his seat. The smooth, cream interior was put to shame by the pale complexion he so effortlessly sustained.

“Mr Potter, can I offer you something with a bit of a kick?” 

“No, thank you...not just yet,” Harry said. 

Harry did not drink at all, but he would never say that in such company. Religious retribution had nothing to do with his decision...Harry feared neither fire nor brimstone. He just didn't like to lose control. 

From his last experience in the city, he knew well the savagery of the natives. Harry was aware that his soft southern manner and provincial naivety only ever managed to chum the water for them. It made them eager to test his moral fortitude, do anything they could to tempt him to darken his virtue and then feed on his declension with the delight of the serpent watching juice dribble down Eve’s chin. 

Fortunately, Draco did not seem to be offended by Harry’s refusal. In fact, Draco looked stone-cold sober as he appraised Harry, his gaze intense and thorough. 

Then Draco’s face fell open into an amused grin and he let the flask hang loose in his delicate grip. With one arm draped over the back of the seat and his cheek against the headrest, Draco’s gaze drifted noncommittally out Harry’s window. His pupils caught the orange flash of the sun between the massive buildings as they passed.

“Why must I always sit in the middle,” Pansy complained, reaching for the the glinting silver container. At the last moment, Draco pulled it back so that it slipped through her fingers. She hissed at Draco, who met her glare with a playful smirk. 

“Because your incessant whining is too sweet a song for us to resist,” Draco replied dryly, returning the flask to his inside jacket pocket. He retrieved his cigarette case and lighter.

“You’re incapable of resisting anything,” Pansy returned, her head tilting dramatically in Harry's general direction. 

Millicent stifled a laugh and Draco winked at her over the flame of his lighter. 

“I’m happy to switch with you if you’d care to take the window seat,” Harry offered. 

If he could, Harry would have happily ridden halfway out of the window to give them all more space. Draco and his pack had been friends for a long time and Harry felt akin to an explorer who was trying to communicate with an ancient tribe...except he didn’t understand the language or know a damn thing about the local customs. He couldn’t tell if they were talking about him, or if they wanted him to participate more, or really if they even wanted him there at all. 

As a matter of fact, in the short time he had spent in their company, the only thing he was able to gleam about each member of the party was how dangerous they each were in their own way. Millicent was willing to go along with anything, Blaise was a slave to his immediate desires, Pansy was actively trying to create drama and Draco was too attractive and too sharp for Harry to defend against. 

Draco rolled his eyes at Pansy as he extended his burning cigarette to Harry. 

Harry stared at Draco’s long, delicate fingers and the cigarette they offered with the tiny Nat Sherman stamp near the filter. 

He decided that even in the most complicated and obscure cultures, it was bad manners to refuse both a drink and a cigarette. Harry didn’t smoke often, but Nat Sherman was a brand that he was especially susceptible to. Each cigarette had a touch of menthol oil rubbed on the filter, making it minty and sweet on your lips as you inhaled. He took a long, thoughtful drag, savoring the rare indulgence. He wondered absently if Draco tasted like sweet mint....it would certainly suit someone with pale skin and full lips like his. More likely, though, his tongue had the permanent malty bite of old, expensive whiskey. 

“Now look, you are imposing yourself on our guest, Pansy. You and I will switch,” Draco said.

Pansy smiled viciously and leaned her face so close that their foreheads nearly touched. 

“You are desperately transparent,” she whispered. 

They grinned at each other like hyenas of the same pack, both affectionate and predatory. Harry got the distinct impression that they were enjoying themselves, that this was all just a big game to them. Harry felt as though he had no place in it 

Pansy and Draco began the process of switching seats, climbing over each other and laughing, falling and kicking up their legs in a graceless ballet. Pansy's dress clinked and gleamed in the sunset like a crystal chandelier, and the feather on her glittering headband nearly snapped against the ceiling. 

“My lord,” she exclaimed, brushing her dark hair out of her thickly lined eyes as she floundered about. She and Draco were squished against one another, still giggling and trying to wiggle over the center console at the same time. They had both gone head first, and it seemed as though were attempting to swim through the passageway. Pansy sounded nearly winded when she took Blaise’s steady, outstretched hand. 

“Darling...yes, some assistance please…” 

She used the leverage to gingerly climb over Draco into the front seat, and Draco was able to half crawl half tumble all the way into the back seat. 

To Harry’s delight and discomfort, Draco ended up with his back against Harry’s shoulder and his feet on Millicent’s thigh. 

“Draco, for the love of…” she was laughing, but with no small amount of force, she batted his ankles off of her person and pushed him closer to Harry. “Get your shoes off of my dress.” 

Harry flushed. Draco’s soft breath was right in the crook of his neck, his hands on Harry’s side, bracing himself from being pushed too far. Draco gradually adjusted to a comfortable seated position, his bowtie and collar loosened from the fray. Try as he might to remember that Draco was only a pretty face from a wealthy family, Harry couldn’t help but enjoy when he moved slowly. 

Wind whipped through the windows as the Duesenberg accelerated. It might have been the open road of the bridge or Pansy’s hand playing on Blaise’s thigh, Harry couldn’t be sure, but they were flying through the transition between the islands. 

As Draco leaned into him, Harry knew that if it was his own foot was on the petal, they’d be breaking the sound barrier. 

“You’d think her dress cost as much as these shoes,” Draco said with friendly snark, not bothering to whisper. 

Harry glanced down at the black leather dress shoes crossed casually over one another on the floor of the back seat. Every inch of Draco dripped wealth, from his shoes and striped socks to the gleaming silver flask that had found its way back to his lips. It was all laid on so thick that it almost looked like a costume. 

Millicent leaned forward, addressing Harry. 

“They’d be worth every penny if he came to a decent amount of parties,” she said dryly, holding her hand out as if she expected Draco to pass her his container. “He’s missed half of the summer season.”

Draco wagged a finger at her and slid the flask back in his jacket pocket. He winked at Harry.

“If I don’t go somewhere with this lot, they assume I didn’t go at all,” he said. 

Harry exhaled a small plume of smoke and looked between them, unsure if he was actually invited to speak. 

“Oh, please,” Pansy drawled, confirming that his input was unnecessary. “I bet you were home doing schoolwork or other such nonsense.”

“Pansy!” Blaise gasped, voice ringing with ironic scandal. “What a horrible thing to say.”

“Yes, Pansy, how barbaric. One would think that with all the money your family spends on finishing schools you would be more civilized…” Draco commented, adjusting his cufflinks.

“I know, darling, I’m a monster and there’s simply no hope for me,” Pansy replied, turning fully in her seat to reach back and brush Draco’s hair out of his eyes. Although her tone was light, Harry could swear there was a measure of real tenderness in the way her gloved hand stroked her friend’s hair.

“I just hate to see you deprive yourself. Your family will buy your way into any school you want to attend.”

Draco closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. 

“Don’t you worry about me, my love. No matter what I do, the Malfoy name and all that comes with it follows me as persistently as my own shadow.” 

“But…” Harry began hesitantly. 

Pansy let her hand fall away, and Draco’s eyes opened, sliding over to Harry. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to accomplish school on your own merit, rather then just on your family name?”

With the exception of Blaise, who for the first time kept his eyes firmly on the road, the other three passengers stared at Harry as though he had grown a second head. Harry took a breath and continued, his words sounding especially slow after their fast paced banter. 

“For instance, what if the economy took a downward turn. Having a meaningful education could protect you from being destitute...” 

Millicent and Pansy exchanged condescending glances, and Harry wholeheartedly regretted giving his unsolicited opinion. Draco tapped his chin thoughtfully, assessing Harry with warm grey eyes. 

“I think there’s something to be said for that, and I wouldn’t dare argue with a man who lives what he preaches,” Draco said diplomatically. “I suppose if the economy did fall into ruin, I personally would have to find a rich husband. Perhaps I would steal Blaise from Pansy...”

Blaise snorted.

“He would, too,” Millicent pointedly informed Harry before turning away in favor of the window. 

“Probably,” Pansy laughed and smacked Draco lightly on the side of the head before returning her attentions to Blaise.

The heavy tension in the car subsided. 

Draco brushed the rest of his platinum hair out of his eyes and smiled fondly, if a little warily at Harry.

“So, are you staying for the whole season?” 

“No, just the week. I’m only here to look at NYU…”

“Really? It’s a beautiful campus, and a prestigious university. May I inquire as to what you'll be attending for?”

“Business,” Harry answered awkwardly. Although Pansy had slid so far over from the passenger seat that she was nearly in Blaise’s lap, and Millicent was lost in her own thoughts, he still knew that they could hear what he and Draco were saying, and that made him feel observed, like at any moment they all might turn and exchange another look over his ideas. 

“Well, I am so glad that your godfather was able to make introductions before the weekend,” Draco said, taking his nearly finished cigarette back from Harry with a gentle touch and a reassuring smile. “It’s wonderful that we’re all able to go out together.”

His crisp New York accent was smooth and pressed. It made him sound right about everything, and Harry wanted nothing more than to believe every polite word out of his gorgeous mouth. But Draco likely didn't care that Harry was in town, let alone that he was out with them on one of their Friday night excursions. 

“Thank you for having me,” Harry said, trying hard to relax. “Actually...where is it that we are going, exactly?”

“One of Gatsby’s parties,” Millicent said, the flash of a match briefly illuminating her face. 

“Gatsby?” 

“Only the wealthiest bootlegger this side of the Mason Dixon,” Blaise said. 

“He also deals in exotic animals,” Millicent added. 

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“He’s trying to impress a girl,” he whispered in Harry’s ear. 

“You’re projecting, darling,” came Pansy’s muffled voice from the front. All Harry was able to see was the back of her bob against Blaise’s neck, and her gleaming diamond nails grazing the dark skin above his pale pink collar. Faint sucking and kissing noises that Harry hadn’t noticed before became blatantly audible. Harry shifted uncomfortably. 

“Pansy, won’t you turn on the radio?” Draco said sweetly, leaning forward to run a hand through her gleaming black hair. “Or wait ten goddamn minutes. It’s not like we’re far from the party.”

She clicked on the dial without responding. The heartbreaking whine of a trombone with the backing of a full brass band filled the empty space and blotted out most of the salacious noises, but not the sight of Pansy’s arm stroking a repetitive motion over Blaise’s sleek blue trousers. 

Harry tried to look anywhere but the front seat; he didn't want to stare, but he almost couldn’t look away. It made Harry feel as though she was insisting that he bear witness to an intensely private moment, and he wasn’t thrilled about being an unwilling voyeur trapped in one of Pansy’s more intimate dreams. 

“Don’t mind them, apparently they love putting on a show,” Draco said loudly, eyes drilling into the back of Pansy’s skull. 

“Uh...” Harry started uneasily, trying to think of a way to distract himself. 

With Pansy and Blaise clearly occupied, Millicent off in her own thoughts, and the sweet sounds of blues coming through the radio, maybe now would be the best time to try to talk to Draco. He almost felt as though they were alone, compartmentalized and free to converse without input from the rest of the group. Harry was emboldened by it, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t at all curious about Draco. What was it that Sirius saw that he was missing...or was there really nothing there at all?

“Thank you for taking me out with you tonight,” Harry said, keeping his eyes on Draco and nowhere else. 

Harry was wearing exactly what he had gotten off the train in - a light brown summer suit with dark brown suspenders and an skinny earthen green tie, the one Sirius always said brought out his eyes. But Draco looked absolutely immaculate in a pressed black tuxedo with a striped vest and plain bowtie, still a little ruffled-looking from his climb into the back seat. They looked like they belonged to an entirely different class of people.

“Oh, it’s nothing, we do this all the time,” Draco said, waving off the compliment with an airy smile.

“Tell me what else you do,” Harry said, trying to coax more something more than vague indifference or clever sass out of Draco. 

Draco smiled and leaned over Harry to ash his cigarette out the window.

“Nothing really. I have lots of money and no responsibilities, so I just let the world turn and see where it takes me.”

Harry moved closer to Dracos ear, for practical purposes, of course. He recalled the letters that Sirius had sent him, all the things he knew about Draco from the gushing account.

“My godfather tells me you were accepted to Columbia. Is that true?”

The music swelled, and Draco flushed before his eyes darted around to see if Pansy, Blaise or MIllicent were paying them any mind. None of them were, and Harry had never been so grateful for anything in his life. 

“I was.” Draco said it so softly Harry read his lips rather than heard the words.

“And will you be going?”

Draco laughed nervously. Harry was surprised to find that the dynamic between them had changed drastically in the past few seconds. It was as though he were now pursuing Draco...tempting him even. 

“Yes.”

“For medicine, right?”

Draco felt just as he had before when Millicent had pushed them together; he was bracing himself, trying not to get too close to Harry. 

And failing. 

“Clinical laboratory science,” Draco corrected as though he couldn’t help himself. “It’s really more like chemistry.”

“It doesn’t sound like you do nothing,” Harry mused, hoping that was true. 

Maybe Draco’s friends were on to something. Maybe while they were out partying, he was home studying. Harry was under no delusions about whether wealthy, well connected parents could throw money at the first four years of their children's undergrad education, but he wasn’t sure that money alone could buy someone’s way into a postgrad chemistry program at Columbia. And even if they could, why would they? It would be an incredibly challenging course load; a ridiculous choice for someone who didn’t care, or didn’t want to be there.

“I don’t like everyone knowing what I do,” Draco said, staring out the window past Harry and into the unhindered, twinkling black sky. “People hear my family name and make up their mind about me before they even speak to me. I’d hate to dash their expectations that I’m a mindless socialite.”

Harry thought about the way he looked at Draco when Narcissa had introduced them earlier that afternoon. He had taken one look at him and decided that typical socialite behavior could be tagged to every statement Draco made and everything he did, and that was even with his godfather trying to tell him to look deeper. 

Harry imagined that in this city where the name Malfoy was its own calling card, Draco was given no chance to be his own person. And in a class of people who had no motivation to achieve anything because of their privilege, Draco would be scoffed at by his peers for not taking advantage of it, or by wasting his time trying to learn something that could just as easily be bought. 

Harry covered Draco’s hand with his own. He wanted to ask him so many more questions, hear more about him. He wanted to let Draco know that he understood what it was like to be alone in a room full of people. 

Draco stilled under his touch, not returning the touch or pulling away. His smouldering grey eyes locked onto Harry’s, pinning him. 

Harry leaned in. 

“I…”

A bright flash blinded him momentarily, and the car swerved wildly. Wind rushed through the windows at a new angle, and the roar of it momentarily drowned out the screaming crescendo of a car horn as Millient and Draco were crushed against Harry’s frame. 

Unexpectedly alert, Harry looked around frantic and realized Blaise had just returned the Duesenberg to the right side of the road. 

“Sorry!” Blaise called, giggling with Pansy. 

Harry looked down to trace the dull ache he was feeling; Draco’s hand was locked into Harry’s, squeezing. Although Millicent had shuffled back over to the driver side window, Draco seemed to be in no rush to jump away from Harry. 

“Are you both alright?” Harry asked quietly, gently squeezing Draco’s hand. 

“This is just how they drive,” Millicent said, seemingly unaffected by the nearness of a head on collision. 

“Fine, thank you,” Draco said absently. Unlike his company, Draco seemed momentarily shaken, his eyes still flickering as though his entire life had just flashed before them. 

It was pitch black on this side of the bridge, the darkness broken by a seemingly endless shower of dry grey flakes drifting through the air. It was ancient and eerie; a motor tour through Pompey just as Vesuvius coughed the first round of ash from its throat. 

Draco ran a hand through his platinum hair and sucked in a quiet breath, followed by a long drag of his cigarette that sizzled down to the filter. Harry watched from the corner of his eye as Draco took a few moments to relax into what looked like his normal, snarky self. His grip on Harry loosened, and he nestled their interlocked hands into the small space between where their thighs touched, hiding them from view. 

“Blaise, could we keep the near-death experiences to a minimum tonight? Harry is with us to go to a party, not to watch you and Pansy play chicken with every oncoming car.”

Blaise snorted a laugh, one hand loosely holding the wheel and the other rounding the curve of Pansy's thigh. 

“You put her in the front with me. You know what happens when you let her sit up front.” 

Draco flicked the remains of his cigarette out Harry’s window and opened his mouth to speak, but Pansy took her lips away from Blaise's ear long enough to turn her grin on Draco, cutting him off. 

“Draco knows what he did. He just wanted to be in the back sooo badly,” she said, her voice somewhat mocking. 

For the briefest moment, Harry felt as though this exchange was about him.

But then Draco was looking at Pansy like she was the least interesting thing he had ever laid eyes on, and, even though Draco’s hand was still interlaced with his, Harry wasn’t sure he had been correct. 

“I thought having a guest with us would inspire you to behave,” Draco said slowly, pointedly. “For God’s sake, we’ll be there in a few minutes! Then you two can slink off to one of the hundred empty rooms, unless of course you manage to kill us, or run over some poor soul in this pitch black hellscape. Then we’ll never get there.”

In the distance, a single glowing line of orange met the black horizon. From what Harry could see out of his window, the only things between them and the setting sun were a few dilapidated wooden houses, a gas station, and heaps upon heaps of ash. It was horrible, and it was terribly dark. He experienced a sinking feeling at the thought of how easy it would be to hit a person here if you weren’t paying attention. 

Pansy waved her hand airly at Draco.

“Well, lucky for us, if we hit someone, you can fix them. You must know something about medicine from all those nights spent studying.”

“It’s not that kind of doctorate, you heathen,” Draco mumbled. 

“It doesn’t matter. If we hit someone around here, we could just drive away,” Pansy replied. “I mean, look at this place. Who would even care?”

Draco pursed his lips, but said nothing. Instead he took a pull from his flask, and this time Harry noticed that it had an etching of a green dragon. When he looked closer, he saw that it was encrusted with tiny emeralds for eyes. 

Harry grimaced and turned away to look out the window. The way Draco’s friends stayed insulated behind their money and power was at best obnoxious and at worst criminal. And if Draco was different, Harry could understand why he would feel the need to stay liquored up, to stay detached. Harry felt detached in Georgia. But he was also embittered by it. 

The scenery changed around them as they continued to plunge into the oncoming darkness. Flaking piles of ash became manicured clusters of foliage, and crumbling shelters were replaced by sprawling estate homes with so much property that there could only be dozen on this part of the island. 

Harry felt Draco’s eyes on him and turned back, surprised to see him wearing a soft, earnest expression. Harry wondered if Draco had seen his disappointment before he looked away.

“She talks a big game, but she would never actually do that,” Draco said. His voice was so soft that just the wind whipping through the windows may have been enough to conceal it. “Sometimes people pretend not to care when they really do.”

“That’s one way to protect yourself,” Harry said a little more rigidly than he meant to. 

“It is,” Draco conceded, watching him closely. “Other people do it by leading secluded lives so that they don’t have to leave their comfort zones.”

This time Harry pursed his lips. He wondered if Draco was making a guess about him, or if Sirius was a two way street of information. 

“Have you been spending a lot of time with my godfather, then?” he asked.

“He has been staying with us, so I do see him fairly often. But...yes. He’s been kind to me.”

“He speaks very highly of you in his letters.”

Draco glowed. 

“Yes, well. I think he wants us to be friends.”

“I think he wants me to move to New York,” Harry sighed. 

Draco had the audacity to smile shyly in return. 

“If it means anything coming from a not-quite-friend...I think you should.”

The car rumbled gently and Harry registered that they were on gravel now, the subtle smell of roses detectable. He looked down at their hands and traced his thumb over Draco’s knuckles. 

Harry smiled. 

Blaise pulled the car in next to a baby blue Roadster with a bit of a jerk, spewing bits gravel off the back tires.

“We’re here!” Blaise yelled, yanking the keys from the ignition and killing the music. As the group kicked their way out of the car, Harry stayed near Draco for an extra moment, reassessing the entire last hour. Draco’s pale hand gently detached itself and reached past him to open the door. 

“I think it’s time to go to the party,” he said tentatively. His breath was hot against Harry’s ear. 

Harry took a breath and stepped into the night with Draco closely in tow. Blaise lit a cigarette and the ladies flanked him on either side, adjusting their hair and jewels. Draco stood by his side, admiring the view of the property and taking another pull from his flask. 

The house they had arrived at was magnificent. It was ablaze with light, a massive layer cake lavished with every decadence. It was grander than any home Harry had visited in the south, and it called to mind the sprawling manors and noble castles from the books he had read about Europe. The lot was packed with both the year’s most expensive cars and its most gleaming couples. 

Harry felt nearly overwhelmed by the excess of it all, the sense of royalty and entitlement it bestowed. He edged closer to Draco and tried to keep his heart confined to his chest as their shoulders brushed. 

Bravery was not something that Harry lacked, but confidence was another story entirely, and he could use a dash of liquid courage if he was going to take on the party and keep up with Draco. He felt an unexplainable optimism, and an unprecedented desire to embark on an adventure. 

“I think I will take a sip of that after all,” Harry said, taking the flask from Draco’s loose grip.

Draco looked on in horror as Harry tipped it back to his lips. The last thing Harry glimpsed before he closed his eyes and braced himself for the gasoline taste was Draco's pale fingers outstretched, reaching numbly. 

“But...Sirius said you didn’t drink…”

The liquid hit Harry’s tongue with a decisive lack of flavor, noticeably devoid of burn or blister. Harry had never been so surprised by such a familiar taste. 

It was water. 

Harry lowered the flask, feeling Pansy, Millicent and Blaise watching him with snake eyes, licking their lips in excitement. 

Harry forced himself into a mild coughing fit and wiped his eyes, feigning the loss of a bit of his innocence in the show he hoped they all desired.

“That’s terribly strong,” he muttered.

A breath escaped Draco’s lips and Harry handed the flask back to him, purposefully letting their fingers brush. Pansy laughed with delight as Blaise clapped Harry on the shoulder, beaming with approval. 

“You’re one of us now, Harry,” he said.

“One of us,” Millicent echoed with a wink. 

“To the party!” Pansy yelled, pulling Blaise and Millicent with her towards the door. 

Draco put out his arm and Harry took it without question.

“One of us,” Draco said, disarming Harry with a beautiful smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of "Lights, Camera, Drarry" (LCDrarry), a film-, TV- and theatre-inspired Drarry fest.  
>  Creations are posted anonymously during the posting period. The creators will be revealed on [tumblr](http://lcdrarry.tumblr.com) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LCDrarry2019/works) on 15 June.


End file.
